The moon hung high above the ruined camp, its pale light casting eerie shadows over the remnants of battle. The fires had long since died down, leaving only the bitter stench of blood and ash. Though the Silver Company had claimed victory, the uneasy silence that followed felt more like a warning than a triumph.
Dikun Silver stood at the camp's center, his gaze fixed on the black banners that now lay trampled in the dirt. No sigil, no name — only the ominous symbol of death. Even in defeat, they offered no answers.
Behind him, Gareth approached, still clad in the bloodstained tunic of battle. His spear, though now lowered, bore the mark of its first true kill. But the young squire's face remained pale, his expression unreadable.
"Sir Dikun," Gareth began, his voice steady despite the lingering weight of the fight. "The prisoners are safe. The wounded are being tended to."
Dikun nodded. "Good. And the bodies?"
"Burned, as you ordered. No trace left behind."
It was necessary. The black banners had no honor — only cruelty. Even in death, they deserved no legacy.
But still, Dikun's thoughts lingered. The raiders had moved with ruthless precision, not as mindless brigands but as soldiers. Someone had commanded them. Someone with power.
"They were too disciplined," Dikun murmured, his voice low. "This was no ordinary raid. The black banners are the tools of something greater."
Elira stepped forward, her bow slung across her back. "Then we find out who holds the reins."
"And when we do," Dikun said, his eyes narrowing. "We cut them loose."
---
The Prisoner's Truth
Among the shattered remnants of the camp, one man had been spared. A bandit, bound and bloodied, knelt before the Silver Company. His eyes flickered with defiance, but fear gnawed at the edges of his resolve.
Dikun crouched before him, his sword resting against the earth.
"Your comrades are dead," Dikun said, his voice cold. "The black banners burn. Speak now, and your death will be swift."
The prisoner spat at Dikun's feet. "You think killing us changes anything? You know nothing of the storm that comes."
Dikun's jaw tightened. "Who commands you?"
The man's twisted grin returned. "You'll see soon enough. The Black Sun rises."
Elira stiffened at the name, her hand instinctively reaching for the dagger at her waist. Dikun caught the movement, but his expression remained unreadable.
"The Black Sun," Dikun echoed. "Who are they?"
The prisoner merely laughed, even as blood dripped from his lips. "You'll beg for mercy when they come. And none shall be given."
Without another word, Dikun rose. "Rudric."
The grizzled warrior stepped forward, his axe gleaming. The bandit's laughter faded as realization dawned.
"Wait—"
The blade fell.
"No mercy for slavers," Dikun said, his voice heavy.
---
A Squire's Burden
The company set camp along the riverbank, the night air cool and thick with mist. While the others rested, Gareth lingered by the water's edge. His hands trembled as he scrubbed the blood from his spear. No matter how much he washed, the stain refused to fade.
"It never fully leaves," Dikun's voice came from behind.
Gareth did not turn. "I killed him, Sir. I saw the fear in his eyes, and I didn't stop."
Dikun stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "You did what was necessary. There is no shame in that."
"But it felt... easy." Gareth's voice cracked. "And now I can't stop thinking about it."
Dikun knelt beside him, the reflection of the moon dancing across the water. "That weight will always remain. A knight does not kill for the pleasure of it. But when the innocent suffer, we bear that burden so they do not have to."
Gareth's gaze remained fixed on the river, but the words settled within him. Slowly, he nodded.
"I will bear it."
"And I will guide you," Dikun said. "You are my squire, Gareth. Your strength will grow, but so too will your heart. That is what separates a knight from a monster."
For the first time since the battle, Gareth's trembling ceased.
---
A Summons from the South
The dawn brought with it a chill wind and the distant thunder of approaching hooves. A rider, clad in the silver and black of the noble court, approached the camp. The emblem of Lord Berrick gleamed upon his chest.
Dismounting swiftly, the messenger bowed before Dikun.
"Sir Dikun Silver," the man announced. "Lord Berrick summons you to Rattay. The court grows restless, and your name is upon many lips."
Dikun's expression did not waver. "And why now?"
The messenger hesitated. "Rumors spread. They speak of a rising force in the south — the Black Sun. The nobles fear the Silver Company may soon stand in its path."
A shadow passed over Dikun's face. The name had followed him like a curse.
"We ride for Rattay," Dikun said. "But tell Lord Berrick this — the Silver Company bows to no fear."
The messenger nodded, departing swiftly.
Elira approached, her eyes dark with concern. "The court will see you as a threat."
"Let them," Dikun replied. "But the Black Sun will not be ignored. Whatever schemes the nobles weave, we will be ready."
Gareth stepped forward, his spear resting firmly at his side. "And I will stand by you, Sir."
Dikun's gaze softened. "Then stand tall, Squire. Our greatest battle is yet to come."
The Silver Company would march once more.
But this time, it would not be to defend mere land.
It would be to challenge the darkness itself.
---
Next Chapter: Court of the Damned
Dikun faces the judgment of Lord Berrick.
Political rivalries emerge as whispers of the Black Sun grow.
Gareth begins to understand the true cost of knighthood.